


Fishing Trip

by unbirthdaydance



Category: SHINee
Genre: Fishing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbirthdaydance/pseuds/unbirthdaydance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which college friends Minho and Kibum go fishing, much to Kibum's displeasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fishing Trip

* * *

“… _fishing_.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Kibum eyes his friend, adjusting his face to demonstrate as much doubt as possible that _fishing_ can in any way be _fun_.

Minho sighs and waves his hands around. “It’ll be relaxing,” he tries hopefully. “Quiet, peaceful…”

Kibum crosses his arms over his chest. “…boring as hell,” he finishes.

Minho remains undeterred. “There’s a really pretty lake we can go to,” he continues. “It’s an easy walk, too, so you won’t even have to hike much to get there!”

“I have an idea,” says Kibum pointedly. “Why don’t we stay here and watch a nice, relaxing movie?”

“We do that all the time! It’s _boring_!”

“So’s fishing!”

They pause for a moment to glare at each other. Then Minho does the really annoying thing where he pouts and goes all puppy-eyed and fuck, Kibum can never say no to that face, embarrassing as it is.

“Okay fine,” Kibum grumbles, giving in with bad grace. “But if I get a fishhook stuck in my foot or something, you’re buying me lunch for a year.”

Minho just beams and hugs him.

~~~

They meet at the lot where Minho’s car is parked an hour later. Kibum’s eyes widen at the sheer assortment of _stuff_ that Minho has with him.

“How the hell do you keep all this shit in your dorm?” he demands, staring at the ice cooler, the fishing rods, the fold-out chairs… “Do you have secret compartments under your floor tiles or something?”

Minho grins and finishes loading up the back. “Not everyone has an entire designer shoe store in their closet, Kibum,” he says, laughing and ducking when Kibum swings a half-hearted fist at him. “Besides, some of it’s my roommate’s. C’mon, get in. It’s a bit of a drive.”

Kibum climbs into the front passenger seat and plugs his iPod into the dash, ignoring Minho’s sigh. If Minho wants to drag him out to the middle of nowhere to go fucking _fishing_ , then he can deal with Kibum’s two hour-long Lady Gaga playlist while they drive there.

~~~

It turns out that Minho really hadn’t been kidding about it being a bit of a drive; it takes an hour and a half to find the secluded little parking lot in the middle of a mountainous forest, plus another twenty minutes for them to stop at a hunting and fishing store for Minho to pick up some supplies. Fortunately, they’d managed to entertain themselves the entire car trip, mostly by trying to sing as off-key as possible to Kibum’s music.

“Okay,” says Minho, hauling out equipment from the back of the car and dividing it into two loads, one slightly larger than the other. “You take that lot, and I’ll take this…”

Kibum swings a backpack over his shoulder and struggles for a moment with the awkwardness of the folding chairs.

“Are these things really necessary?”

Minho winks. “Unless you want to get your pretty jeans all dirty by sitting on the ground, then yeah, I’d say so.”

Kibum sighs and hefts the chairs to a more comfortable position.

~~~

The lake is an easy twenty-minute stroll down well-trodden hiking paths. They’re not the only ones out to fish in the semi-wilderness, however, so it takes another fifteen minute slog around the shore until they find a suitably private spot to set up at.

Kibum suggests hopefully at this point that they lounge around for a while and make a start on some of the beer in the ice cooler, but Minho shakes his head and insists on diving right into the fishing lessons. He launches into a detailed explanation of lures and worms and hooks and something called a bobber or bobby or some such nonsense that Kibum doesn’t really pay attention to.

“I am _not_ touching a worm,” Kibum announces, wrinkling his nose at the small container of wriggling, slimy…whatever worms are. “You can stick one on my hook for me, or I’ll fish with one of those feathery things, thank you very much.”

Minho rolls his eyes, sticks a worm on Kibum’s hook for him, and proceeds with the fishing lesson. Much to Kibum’s horror, it gets _worse_ than worms. The art of flinging a very sharp hook dangling by a thin plastic thread from an awkward rod is terrifying. _Casting_ , Minho calls it, and his warning for Kibum to be careful lest the hook swing back and hit him does more to convince Kibum than fishing is a horrible pastime than even the container of worms had.

In the end, Minho winds up casting for both of them. Then, once their bait is floating out in the water to tempt the fishes, they settle down into their folding chairs, make a start on the beer and wait.

And wait.

And _wait_.

“I told you this was gonna be boring,” Kibum complains half an hour later, their lines recast for the second time and still only unpromising nibbles from the fish. He shivers a little in the chill of the breeze, wishing he’d brought a thicker jacket. “You should listen to me about these things.”

Minho ignores his complaining and focuses on the shivering instead. _Typical_.

“Here, take this,” says Minho, wedging his rod in the cupholder of his folding chair for a moment in order to slip out of his hoodie. “I’m not that cold.” 

Kibum frowns and considers objecting, then shivers again and decides he might as well accept the offer. He hands his fishing rod to Minho and pulls the hoodie on. It’s soft and warm from Minho’s body heat and comfortably oversized. It also smells like Minho, which Kibum finds immensely distracting. He slumps in his chair after retrieving his fishing rod and winds up paying more attention to the musky scents of Minho’s cologne, sweat and bug spray than he does to whatever is happening on the end of his fishing line.

At least, until Minho yells loudly and snatches Kibum’s rod from him.

“A bite! You’ve got a bite!”

Kibum hastily grabs Minho’s rod before it can fall out of the cupholder where Minho had stashed it in his eagerness. He watches Minho reel in the fish, enjoying the sight of how Minho’s arm and back muscles ripple under his shirt as he hauls in the catch.

He’s so distracted by this activity that he doesn’t notice he _also_ has a fish at the end of his line until the rod nearly jerks out of his arm and sends him into a panic.

“Minho! Oy! Minho! I have a fucking fish, what the fuck do I fucking _do_ -”

“Reel it in!” Minho shouts happily, working furiously to haul his own fish in to shore. 

Kibum focuses on attempting to do the same, save that his this particular fish seems intent on yanking his arm out of his socket and pulling him forward out of his chair. Kibum’s mind departs on a flight of yet more panic. Surely there aren’t supposed to be fish this strong in this tiny lake?

Minho lets out a loud groan as his line suddenly goes slack, his fish apparently having worked the worm off the hook and made off with it.

“Damn it,” he swears, reeling the rest of his empty line in. “I almost had the fucker…”

“Um,” says Kibum in high-pitched, panicked tones as he struggles with his own fish. “Some fucking _help_ here?" 

Minho looks over at him in surprise, apparently having been so engaged in his own battle that he hadn’t noticed Kibum’s fish woes.

“Stand up,” says Minho. He sets his rod aside and gets to his feet. “I’ll help you out.”

Kibum immediately hops up off the chair. Minho steps behind him and wraps one arm about his waist, the other steadying Kibum’s other arm as he drags his fish in to shore. With Minho’s weight behind the line as well, the fish becomes much less burdensome to reel in.

“That’s it,” Minho breathes in Kibum’s ear, making him shiver yet _again_ and almost forget about the fish. “Keep going, you’ve almost got it-”

Except not. The line goes slack only a second or two later, leaving Kibum to sigh with disappointment.

“Sorry,” he says, leaning a little into Minho’s solid warmth behind him. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” says Minho. He presses their cheeks together for one brief, comforting moment before drawing away. “I lost my fish, too. Fishing’s more about the experience than the fish, anyway.”

Kibum rolls his eyes- honestly, is that supposed to make any kind of sense?- but follows Minho’s example and reels in the rest of his line.

“Can we just sit for a while?” Kibum asks hopefully. “I need a break.”

“We could throw in our lines again,” says Minho. “Might be a while before we get another bite.”

“Or, knowing our luck, it’ll happen in the next three minutes,” Kibum says acerbically. He turns and flutters hopeful eyelashes at Minho. “Let’s just sit and watch the sunset, okay?”

Minho hums and sighs and reluctantly doesn’t attempt to persuade Kibum to start fishing again, though he himself does cast his own line back into the lake. Kibum settles comfortably into his folding chair, sips at his beer and occupies himself with surreptitiously spying on the other people strung around the lakeshore.

After a while, the antics of bored children and argumentative couples cease to entertain him. Kibum shifts his gaze and looks out at the fiery glow of the sun setting behind the mountains instead.

“Wow,” he says, impressed in spite of himself. “Look at that sunset.”

There’s a pleased rumble in Minho’s voice as he replies. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” says Kibum, eyes tracing the violet outlines of clouds. “That shit’s pretty beautiful, I guess. It’d make a gorgeous postcard.”

“Mmm,” Minho says softly. “Very gorgeous.”

Kibum turns his head and catches Minho staring at him, his expression very…very something. Minho blinks and hastily looks away to fiddle with his fishing rod the moment their eyes meet.

Kibum grins. “Hey,” he says, teasing. “ _I_ was talking about the sunset. You wanna see _me_ on a postcard or something?”

Minho’s ears go red. His fingers tap uselessly at the metal of the fishing rod.

“Well, no, I just- you _are_ very pretty, and so-”

Kibum snorts out of automatic amusement at how flustered Minho is. Then he pauses, the ridiculous clichéd nature of the situation making something _click_ in his head- a hundred scattered little pieces of a puzzle he’d never quite bothered to put together until now.

“It’s cool,” Kibum says, never taking his eyes off Minho, who is still messing pointlessly with the rod. “Compliment me more, you smooth talker, you. Besides, I guess this isn’t the worst place you could’ve taken me for a first date.”

Minho nearly drops the rod. “What? This isn’t a date-”

“Oh yeah?” says Kibum. “You sure about that?”

Minho shoots him a very nervous sideways stare through his eyelashes. “…we’re not dating, Kibum. How is this a date if we’re not dating?”

“Well, we’re dating _now_ ,” Kibum announces. “What say you, boyfriend?”

Minho hesitates before responding long enough for a small flutter of panic to rise up in Kibum’s chest, making him wonder if he’s wrong about this after all. He bites his lip. _God_ , that would be so fucking embarrassing…

Then Minho smiles at him, bright and happy and reassuring, and Kibum relaxes.

“Cool,” says Minho, the tones of his voice a little shy, unsure. “This is a date, then.”

Kibum smirks and pumps a fist in the air. “I knew it!”

Minho huffs out a soft breath of laughter. “How long?” he asks. “I mean, how long have you known that I-”

“About two minutes,” Kibum says smugly, and glares when Minho’s laughter intensifies. “Oh, shut up, you didn’t even know _I_ was interested in you until just now either, when I _told you_ -”

Minho wheezes in a breath. “I’d been kinda wondering for a while, though,” he says. “You stare at me with this really weird look sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kibum demands. “Well, you stare at my ass all the time, so it’s not like you’ve got room to talk-”

“I really like your ass,” says Minho, with the sweetest, most sincere of smiles, and oh hell, Kibum can’t argue with those words or that handsome fucking face.

“Let’s just sit here and appreciate nature, fisher boy,” says Kibum, letting the argument go. He reaches out and curls his fingers over Minho’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over the jump of Minho’s pulse. “After we’re done here, wanna make out for a bit in your car?”

Minho grins. “Planning on rewarding me for catching you dinner?” he asks, teasing.

“Sure,” says Kibum, fighting back a smirk. He gives a catlike, predatory yawn instead. “You gotta catch something first, though. Wrangle me a shark, and I just might be tempted to do more than just make out, if you know what I mean…”

“There are no sharks in this lake, Kibum,” Minho says reprovingly. “It’s _freshwater._ ”

He nonetheless turns back to the task of fishing with an attractive intensity, despite how ridiculous the sight of someone intensely sitting around with a pole in their hand is. Kibum grins, tightens his hold on Minho’s wrist and takes another sip of beer.

They might not wind up with any fish at the end of the day, but hey, a boyfriend isn’t a bad catch. In fact, it’s probably better.


End file.
